'I asked her to come with me once. She said, 'Why' I said, 'I'll show you the world.' She laughed at me then, a broken chime of bitter bells, and said 'There is nothing you can show me. I have seen all that I care to see of this world.' A series of vignettes on post-crash Susan Pevensie through the eyes of a distant lover.

A/N: I've had a bit of Susan-inspiration, and this is what came of it. There will be a couple of short vignettes, through the eyes of the last of her admirers.

They don't love her the way they used to.

Cold, bleak and barren, cold in the flesh, cold in the bone, cold in the eye, cold in the heart.

It isn't her fault.

Maybe it is. He lost his reasoning somewhere along the line.

He is the only one that keeps on worshipping her, as they all had, once. He is the only one who still calls on her, who still bothers with her, who still knows the name the rest of them have forgotten so quickly. Susan Pevensie. Society's glittering princess, its most dazzling jewel, smashed into a million razor sharp pieces. Shattered into nobody.

But he can't remember what it was like not to adore her. Every boy who knew her loved her a little, he thinks. When her reign as the social queen comes to an abrupt end, and another sits on her throne, he remains her faithful subject.

She is like some rich girl's china doll, a lovely, lifeless thing, a puppet brought to life for the entertainment of those who grasp her strings. Her clothes pretty and stylish, a face that could be made of porcelain, lips and eyes painted on to perfection by the most skilful of doll makers. She is blindingly beautiful, but as with all things, the moment a tiny crack appears, the merest fault in her, she is cast aside, a broken toy, ruined, no longer loved. In just such a way has her whirl of society cast her out. Oh, she is beautiful still, gorgeous in her melancholy, but something has snapped behind her eyes. She doesn't smile anymore. She doesn't drink, or flirt, or gossip. Her face is like a frozen wasteland. You could get lost in it, but it would chill you to the soul.

They had no sympathy. She was lost to grief, and nobody wanted a party with such an immense cloud of mourning hung over it, so they cast her out, and she was content to live in silence and dullness with nothing but her sorrow for company. She did not fight them, she did not try. She became another flapping winter coat hurrying along the blustery street, nameless and friendless.

Except for him.

A/N: What do you think? It's a bit different from my normal style, and I'd be very grateful for some feedback. I hope you enjoyed it!

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